The Mating Habit of Snails
by crackers4jenn
Summary: Based on the season 1 episode "Double Date". This is going to deviate from the original plot.


Pacey killed the engine, the noise level abruptly cut off in the small cab of the Witter family pick-up. He cleared his throat and steadied his nerves and looked over at Joey. Who was already two thirds of the way out of the car.

Just as quick, he was following. Long strides carried her around the bend of the truck and he met her somewhere in the middle.

He went for the joke. An impulse to strike up a conversation, to maybe work in some charming way to get to see her again in a purely social setting. "Am I going to have to fail another mid-term or can we do this again sometime?"

"Well, we still have a report to finish, Pacey, so I'm pretty sure we're going to spending a lot of time together."

The girl could be dense. Self-preservation method, tragic repercussion of a lifelong friendship with Dawson, who knows. Maybe it was just the stifling personality of Capeside. "Actually, that's not what I was talking about, Joey."

Alarm bells cranked to high. She gave him a look. "Then what did you mean?"

"Well, let me put it to you this way..." Nothing like the present time for a little temporary insanity 101. A rush of _something_ pulled him along, to her, and in some way that he knew must look horrifyingly like any still out of your generic teen-driven angst-fest flick, he kissed her.

Let it be noted that it lasted beyond the initial _is this really happening?_ period. There was a pause, there was the sinking in of realization, and then there was only him and Joey, kissing.

Then there was air.

Wide-eyed, Joey looked less like a willing, if not happy and satisfied participant, but like someone who's virtues were being publicly called out. "Pacey!" That wasn't a released sigh of pleasure. "Geez, what the hell was that for?"

There was a snow-ball effect going on. An embarrassing, disappointing snowball.

"Well," he managed, "if I have to explain myself, it clearly didn't have the desired effect."

"Why in the world would... Well, I guess I know _why_ you would... Why would you?"

"I had a really nice time today. A nice time that exceeded my wildest expectations. I was confused, and surprised... and attracted. You?"

Joey tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. The plink-plink-plinking of a piano could practically be heard in the far off distance, a truly pathetic soundtrack to accompany what was quickly becoming a highly awkward moment.

"Well," she eventually said, face twisted into something like a grimace, something like a shy, flustered smile. "I had a nice time, too."

He was primed for rejection--tailor made for rejection, if you want to get down to it--but no matter how hard he listened, he couldn't quite hear it. Hell, it sounded half like acceptance, if you asked him.

"And that's supposed to mean? What?" Because in dealing with the woman psyche, you ask for clarifications.

"I don't know. I mean, is it supposed to mean something? Should it mean something? I don't know. We're friends. And I had a nice time. Admittedly expectations were exceeded, but, if I'm being completely honest here, the highest expectation I had was that we survive the day without me brutally attacking you."

Pacey inched a step closer. Not enough to spook her, but close enough that those gut-dropping, head-rush feelings started to surface again. "That's good."

Joey stepped back. Things turned abrupt. "It's late. Bessie's probably worried sick."

He watched her recede upwards one step at a time, and laughed half-heartedly. There came the snowballing again. "It's barely curfew."

She twisted her shoulders up and into a shrug. "Well, we've still got that report to write, and you know what they say. Early to bed, early to rise. I think there's something about a worm..."

He climbed a step. "Jo..."

But she stopped him with a strong, "It's late, Pacey."

And he retreated back down. "Okay," he agreed, cautiously. Then almost hopefully, "But we're still on for tomorrow, right? Because my grade depends on you. As much as I like wearing the metaphorical dunce cap, passing a class sometime this century would be nice."

"Sure," she said, all big eyes and big smiles and fake. "Absolutely. Bright and early."

"Uh. Just so we're clear--"

"Hey, Pace? We've got snails in the truck. Think you can dispose of them in a way that is both humane and beneficial to our ongoing experiment?"

He wasn't stupid. The girl knew how to change a subject. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. Mean looking one in the back gets his own bachelor tank, right?"

She was gripping the door. He stood rooted in place until he realized with startling clarity that he was pathetically staring at her. Probably some sort of sad glisten in his eyes, all misery and kicked dog.

"Hey, Pace?" she said again, as he was reclaiming his manhood and turning to go. When she had his undivided attention, her voice was softer. "Thanks."

Then she was inside and the porch light flickered off.

-----

"Hey, man," Pacey called out, an ocean of excited nerves currently doing the flamenco gut-deep inside of him. Like Christmas mornings when he was still too little to notice that graying cloud of underachievement looming over his head. "I did it, Dawson! I said I was going to do it, and I did it."

Dawson, lost in his own adolescent haze where life only every now and then happened to be about things that didn't revolve around him, barely blinked in Pacey's direction. A drooping eyelid made an attempt, but weighted down with self-involvement, Dawson ended up staring eye-to-eye with a 7-foot tall wall of videos instead. "It was a complete bust," he marveled to himself, and the thing was, Pacey was willing to lay a month's worth of paychecks on the line that Dawson had been stuck in this same stupor since the evening began. "The whole night with Jen. For nothing."

"Are you even listening? I did it, man! I kissed her!"

The drooped eyelid raised towards Pacey. Dawson's face twisted into something like confusion. "You kissed her? You kissed--? Wait, you kissed _Joey_?"

"And the dots finally connect! Yes, Dawson, I, renowned slacker of all that is Capeside, kissed Josephine Potter, the girl from the wrong side of the creek. I'm telling you, it was monumental."

"You kissed _Joey_."

"Yeah, yeah, we've already established that. Well. Aren't you going to say something?"

"Honestly? I have no idea what to tell you. I'm shocked. I'm... I'm in utter disbelief. I'm speechless."

"What about about a pat on the back? Or a handshake. You know what? A handshake will do."

"But, what about--? I mean, what happened? She didn't--"

"If you're asking how much blood was shed, the answer may surprise you. I managed to pull this off with not a single punch thrown. I'm telling you, Dawson, it was unbelievable."

"She _let_ you kiss her?"

"'Let' is such a guttural word. Let's just say whereas I expected the reaction to range from violent to cosmically destructive--we're talking the universe imploding, Atlantis-sized tidal waves, hurricanes, tsunamis, your various other garden variety of natural disasters--it was... surprisingly chaos-free."

Dawson laughed, this short-lived, barking sound. Then he caught Pacey's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the idea of you and Joey kissing. You've been on adversing sides ever since I can remember. I mean, you used to pull her pigtails. You'd chase her around the school yard until she turned around and kicked you."

Pacey's smile was fond. "Yeah."

Finally, Dawson lowered onto a chair, the one where Pacey's jacket was already draped over the back. He had that empty look in his eyes, like the time he first found out E.T. wasn't actually real.

"You okay, man?" Pacey asked. "You're not looking so good."

"I'm fine, I'm... I'm taking it all in."

"But you're cool with it, right? We're cool?" Up until he said it, he didn't realize how much he was counting on Dawson being okay with it. Stakes hadn't ever been claimed, not officially, not like the time him and Dawson had swapped blood from their picked at scabs and declared themselves blood brothers for life, but, generally speaking, you split Dawson down the middle, and there's Joey, and it works just the same the other way around.

"Absolutely," Dawson said, still hollow-eyed. But he met Pacey's stare and said more convincingly, "Obviously. 100% cool with it. Why wouldn't I be? My two best friends... together."

"Woah, woah, woah. Let's not jump ahead of ourselves. It was just a kiss. A possibly life-altering one, at that, but all the same, lips were locked and that was it."

"Do you want to be--?"

"The King of Sheba? What? You're gonna hafta spell it out here, Dawson."

"Do you want to be with Joey? Do you want to be together, exclusively?"

Taking the chair next to him, Pacey sunk down until the glow of the computer screen lit up his face. "Now, that's something worth pondering, isn't it?"

---

Bessie was drying off the dishes when Joey came into the kitchen. As Bessie wiped down one of the glasses that belonged stocked at the Ice House instead of their cabinets, Joey, with a huge mental push, forced a sort of casualness into her existence.

Before nerves could get the best of her she asked, "Bessie, can I talk to you?"

"Sure," Bessie said, setting the glass onto the counter top. She stuck the dish towel in the waistband of her jeans, which was a sure sign that they'd been over-worked these past couple of weeks. "What's on your mind?"

How to go about this without making it into a big deal? Half-grimacing, half-cringing, Joey admitted, "I have this sort of... problem."

"Uh-oh. What kind of problem? Is this a Dawson problem?"

Was she really so readable? "Not exactly. It's... I don't know how to say it, other than to just come out and say it, but even the minuscule act of attempting to say it out loud has so far resulted in nothing but disaster and, and failure, I--"

"Joey. Just tell me."

She took a deep breath and let the air all back out with, "Pacey kissed me."

Bessie's first reaction was a slow, wide-eyed blink, and then she laughed.

"I'm serious!" Joey cried. "This is far from a laughing matter, Bessie. I need advice."

Sensing an edge related to hysteria lurking underneath Joey's normally calm but currently faltering exterior, Bessie ushered Joey towards the table. Low, like someone far more scandalous in the house than Alexander could hear them, Bessie said, "You're saying he really kissed you?"

"Yes. Pacey Witter, slacker extraordinaire, friend of the word 'detention'. He kissed me."

"Were you--surprised?"

"If you're asking whether or not I invited the slob-fest to begin with, it's an unnecessary path to follow. He kissed me, exactly the way it sounds. I wasn't exactly sending signals, mixed or otherwise"

"So the question is, what'd you do?"

"The only logical thing to do! I told him we're, on a very delusional day, friends, and that's just because the word 'acquaintance' implies a common cordiality that I think is safe to assume doesn't exist in our little perimeter of whatever marginal relationship we _do_ have."

"And how did he take it?"

"Surprisingly well."

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

"The problem is the ever eternal can of worms that both clouds and alludes me at all times. It's the one thing Pacey and I even have in common, the denominator that is mutually and exclusively shared between us--"

"Dawson."

"Dawson. If Dawson ever found out, do you know the multitude of repercussions Pacey's innocent yet irreclaimable actions could have? Cataclysmic at best, our--our whole delicately and precariously balanced universe could unravel--"

"Joey, don't you think you're being a tad dramatic? Pacey's your friend. Dawson's your friend. I think you're giving them far less credit than they deserve."

"Don't you see? It's not about friendship. It's about our rapidly disappearing childhood and that steady, faster-by-the-day ascent towards adulthood. Right now, things are so delicate, one mistake, one simple, unprovoked misunderstanding could destroy everything."

"Again, I think you're being just a little dramatic, here. Have you even talked to Dawson? Or better yet, do you think Dawson would find this as _cataclysmic_ as you seem to think he would?"

"I don't know. I don't know, Bessie, and therein lies the problem."

"Joey," Bessie started, gently. "Is there anything else you want to tell me? Some other problem you might be having. You could, you know. That's the perk of having a _rad_ sister."

Joey eyed Bessie with something like distrust. "Your prehistoric vocabulary aside... no. This is it. My one crisis, which I think I'm allowed."

"Are you sure?" she prodded.

"Yes! What, because something else needs to be falling apart at the seams right now? It's not bad enough that Pacey kissed me, there must be some other inner upheaval causing this out-of-character display of hysteria?"

"Hey. You're the one who said it."

"So your advice is that you have no advice? That's what it boils down to, right?"

"Is there a way I can win, here, Joey? Tell me what I said wrong and I'll un-say it."

Joey squeezed her eyes shut, her fast-to-catch anger swallowed with it. It wasn't fair to take out Pacey's recurring stupidity on Bessie, especially when Joey was holding back from the complete and total truth. Which meant that it might have been the perfect time to come clean a little. Get it all off her chest, because God knows writing about it every time the mood hit in her sad, hapless, not to mention extremely juvenile and quickly becoming more depressing by the day journal was beginning to cramp even her limited style.

"The thing is, Bess," she said, and her fingers played idly with the hem of the table cloth, fading fabric her Mother wove together decades ago, "I might have developed... feelings... recently, for the exact wrong person."

Bessie's words were soft, kind, but more than that, completely non-judging. "How do you know that, Jo?"

A hard, dead-pan look.

"Alright," her sister relented, hands in the air in show of easy placation. "So you have a thing for a boy that maybe you shouldn't. It's not the first time in history that's happened, and it's not the worst thing, either."

Joey rolled her eyes, pushing back in her chair. Gone went the ease in which they were able to share a few minutes of sisterly comradery and conversation. "I'm a teenager, Bessie. History is exclusive to what's happening around me at any given moment, and what's happening now? Is better left for satire."

"Joey." Bessie stood up with her. "I wasn't trying to--"

"Look, I get it, alright? I'm just a kid. I know that. In the grand scheme of things, my issues are disproportionately trivial to whatever world issue you want to toss into the mix. But they're _my_ issues. That makes them personal, and maybe. Maybe that just makes it harder."

----

Pacey pulled up ten minutes early, engine idling while he sat and waited for Joey to notice he was out there. He was feeling good. Really good. Maybe a little smug, a little head in the clouds, but he'd thought about it last night, and with the help of his old buddy Dawson, he'd come to the conclusion that there was something there with Joey. Underneath all that hate, the annoying habits, the prude-like exterior, the uptight, wound up persona, she was actually sort of likable. Tolerable, even. Of course, outside of rare occasions like birthday parties and holidays and that time the Spice Girls had toured close enough to Capeside for Joey to get excited over, he'd only experienced this side of her the one time, but he had a feeling that if he dug deep enough, maybe stopped tugging at her hair whenever she'd pass in the hallways, she'd relent. Open up. Embrace the calm and tone down on the typical adolescent melodrama.

A door slammed, and there she was. Storming down the Potter porch, all sweater and short shorts and looking mightily pissed off. Wait, hang on. He sat up straighter, hands sliding up the steering wheel. No way did she look happy.

She yanked open her side--Pacey grimaced on the door's behalf--and slammed it after her, sliding into her seat. Pacey was met with what had quickly become her welcoming glare upon their childhood introduction. "What?" she said, in all conceivable appearances a well-planted trap.

His hands were held up, placating, all _Look at me not saying a word_. "Nothing."

"Good," she said, and she struggled with the seat belt, "because, believe me, Pacey, I am nowhere near being in the mood."

Resisting the snarky comment, he switched gears and started to reverse the pick-up. "This might just be some far-fetched limb, but. Bad morning?"

"That would be the short version."

He sneaked a look her way. "Do I want to know the long version?"

"Only if you've got a sudden strong penchant for bodily harm inflicted your way," was her tight, snappy reply.

"You know, not as such. Not on a morning like this. Take a look around you, Jo. It's a beautiful morning."

She eyeballed him in much the same way he gaped at his brother's alarming and disappointing album collection. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Pacey?"

"What, I can't appreciate the start of a good day when I see it?"

Her hands folded neatly across her chest and the air crackled with barely contained tension as she squared in his direction. The anger retreated into sarcasm, showing outwards with a dry smile and hard, bitter eyes. "What, you wake up this morning and get to claim the prize in the cereal box? Is that it? Or did you stumble upon some doofuses guide to self-enlightenment? Chapter one: channel your inner-Yanni."

A long sideways stare, then a dry, _why am I stupid enough to think this encounter would amount to anything outside of the ordinary?_ laugh. "I'm sensing a mood that is not exactly open to uplifting visual observations."

"Good. Stay with that instinct."

You know what? Maybe a silent drive would be best for all. A really... quiet... drive.

-----

"Pacey!"

Joey's sudden shout startled him out of the it's-too-early-need-to-sleep stupor he'd been in, and with an undignified intake of air, he nearly toppled off of the lined up set of three stools he'd been lounging on.

"What?!" he cried back, tugging at his shirt, persona to shrug back in place.

"Please tell me I'm experiencing some horrible, hallucinogenic flashback to yesterday. Please tell me you did _not_ do your part in recreating this sick feeling of deja vu I'm experiencing--"

He edged closer, confused. "Jo, I'm gonna be frank. You're freaking me out, here."

Her stare was deadly. In her hands were what he prayed and hoped were not what they appeared to be: snails that'd crossed into the otherworldly beyond. "_You're_ freaking out?" she shrilly said. "I'm staring at the dried remains of our science project! _Again._" The dead snails were dropped back into the tank she'd pulled them from, and she wiped her hands on her shorts. "Do you have some sort of remedial urge to fail this class? If so, tell me now--"

In a couple of quick steps, he was in front of her. "Just hang on a sec. How is this my fault?"

"Do you want to re-think the use of those words?"

"I did what you told me! Exactly! Big ol' carnivore dude, he's over there," he pointed, "in his own tank, free to be as asexual as he pleases in the privacy of his own murky water."

"Which would be fine, except the specimens we collected _all_ needed to be separated, Pacey."

That would be the downside, then. Ever the eternal optimist, Pacey brightened. "Okay, but all's not a lost cause. We've still got one little snail holding it out for all snailkind."

She didn't look pleased with his attempt to downplay the severity of the situation. So they were down two snails. Big deal. They'd just jot down their findings regarding the fact that, aparently, carnivorous snails do not procreate well in the company of others, and move on to observing the habits and affairs of the living one.

"Fine," she grumbled, then pinned him with a steely look, "but you are not to touch, handle, or go even remotely near our lone survivor. Do you hear me?"

"Aye-aye," he saluted.

She swept her hair up into a ponytail and started to gather her notebook, pencil, and the test tubes they'd earlier assembled filled with varying liquid factors for their experiments. Dirt they'd scraped out of the last set of dead snails, small pieces of greenery, a little compound chemicals mixed together in a way not meant to be potent. Boring things like that.

"If you ask me," she said, blithely, "you should be thanking whatever higher power out there decided to cut you a break and assign you with me. Someone who's used to dealing with your recurring brainlessness."

Part 2 (the final part! the _things actually happen!_ part!) will be posted... soon-ish.


End file.
